KamaSutronics

The Plow/Probe

(also known as the Probe Plus.)

This was the first fucking machine I bought.  I was delighted.

I’d made a fuckzall previously, and the women I’d tried it with had responded… well, better than I could have hoped.  There were loud, extreme, extravagant orgasms, knocking furniture over in other states.

So it was only a matter of time before I upgraded.  I chose to buy the eXtreme Plow, a dark and gleaming thing from Orgasm Alley.

I didn’t know that the technology was just minutes away from being out of date.

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I take Heather to Le Central for lunch.  Le Central is a sweet little French restaurant just south of downtown, serving delicacies in an ivy-encrusted back room bathed in sunshine.  Heather is sexy, open, daring.  The hostess seats us, and Heather takes in the room: its gorgeous deep daylight, the abundant greenery.  She grins, and excuses herself to go to the bathroom, but I stop her.

I hand her a small package.  “You’ll know what to do with it,” I tell her, giving her a wicked half-smile.

She heads off.  Inside the package she will find a vial of silicone-based lubricant and an insertable vibrating egg.  I order a cup of coffee.

She returns, grinning, and sits across the table from me.  Maybe she’s a little more aware of the diners at nearby tables, the hum of conversation.  I reach into my pocket, where the remote control is waiting.  I press the button once, and a second or two later Heather emits a sound of delight.

The waitress arrives.  Heather doesn’t know her way around French food, so I order for the two of us.  She shoots me a conspiratorial look, enjoying the covert eroticism of a vibrator secretly buzzing inside her while the waitress enumerates today’s specials.  I press the button again, turning up the power, and Heather gurgles.  The waitress looks at her for a moment, and then I continue the order.

The waitress leaves, returning with my coffee.  It’s a bitter Columbian coffee.  I like it black.  I take a sip and swirl it around my mouth, savoring the warmth, the bitter, the flow of it.  It’s delicious.  I hit the button again, turning up the power.

I point out the decor to Heather, who seems distracted.  She doesn’t seem to take in the details of the room, which is sad, because the room is so pretty.  It has l’esprit de terroir — that spirit of place that can imbue a memory with so much meaning.  No one recalls the details of a dinner at Taco Bell, but here, in the shining back room of Le Central, there’s space to let your mind reach out and touch every corner of the windowed room.

I’m planning to order us some creme brulee for dessert, and I don’t want Heather to go numb before then, so I decide to turn off the vibrator.  And here is where things start to go wrong.

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Because sometimes you just need the video.

When I was in my 20s, if you were hip and kinda spiritual, a little alternative, you’d fucked or been fucked to the Bedouin tones of Peter Gabriel’s “Passion.”  It was mandatory.  It was almost cliche.  This music is the soundtrack for cool people having sex in the mid-90s.

People have relationships with their music.  These relationships have grown increasingly private since Sony brought us the Walkman.  What would it be like to have sex with the music?  Not to have sex with music playing, but to see the music, to feel it, touch it.

ColorTrack glasses are one of the tools I use.

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The Banger

Ever get tired of browsing from one shop to another and seeing the same items over and over?  Ever want something that will startle and amuse you in a new way, or suggest erotic possibilities you hadn’t really considered?  Then this series is for you.

Today’s installment focuses on three items that seem to be from the same designer.  I can’t say for sure, because I CAN’T EVEN LOCATE A BRAND NAME ON THEM!  How awesome is that?  There’s an itty bitty little bit of my heart that just goes out to sex toy  inventors who have no idea how to do business.  They’re like the shy cute guy who can never get his courage up to talk to the girl at the party.

I’m going to talk about three toys, the Banger, the Jaunty Cock, and the Jaunty Cock Ebony.  I’ve only ever tried the Banger, but I think I know enough about stuff to comment on the other two designs.

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The publishing industry has fallen behind.

There are amazing things taking place, almost daily — breakthroughs in sexual technology, deepening understandings of female sexual response, and it hardly ever gets reflected in print.  What does wind up in print is usually lurid representations of the bizarre, with commentary that says, essentially, “look what those crraaaaazy pervos are doing now!”

Timothy Archibald’s Sex Machines: Photographs and Interviews takes an interesting approach.  It represents a nuanced, sometimes haunting, American landscape.

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The ShockSpot

Author’s note: This was a review of an earlier model, so a lot of information is out of date in reference to the newer models.  Some more recent observations are available here.

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The ShockSpot is compact, sturdy, and shiny. It’s made from top-notch 80/20 materials. It’s programmable, positionable, and visually impressive.  If the ShockSpot had been brilliantly designed, it would be a bargain — even at $2,200.

But what is it that we actually want from a fucking machine, anyway?  This is the kind of question that sex toy designers really need to ask.

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Tentacles!

Suction’s an amazing sensation. Right now, there is no “best,” no “perfect” suction toy for women.

A lot of the toys advertised as “pussy pumps” are rigid. They have a curve, intended to be a universal curve, but women’s bodies (joyfully!) are varied; one woman’s shape is different from another’s.

What’s needed is a softer, flexible suction cup. It should incorporate a decent vibrator and an okay source of suction.

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Conair Heated Lotion Dispenser

Take a Conair Heated Lotion Dispenser.  Fill it halfway with your favorite lubricant.  Turn it on.

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Feeling the music.

It’s called “synesthesia” when your senses blend together.  You can taste music, or feel a smell, or hear a color.  These are beautiful strange moments.  A song might glow like a bright white light with darker green edges; a lover’s touch could become a deep note held for a long time.

That’s synesthesia.

For a while now I’ve been working on a music system.  I call it the Synestheatre.  The idea is simple: I want to play music for a woman so that she hears it and sees it and feels it, all through her body.  Lie on your back, close your eyes, and let the music play you.

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The Slightest Touch

Prior to using The Slightest Touch, a woman is supposed to drink an electrolyte drink.  Twenty minutes later, she places two sticky pads four fingers above her ankles, and turns on the power.  It doesn’t feel like someone is touching you softly.  It sends a tingle of electricity up between the pads.  Let it continue tingling for half an hour before getting things started.

The Slightest Touch is supposed to help women achieve orgasms — more powerful, more frequent orgasms.

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